


Reminiscing

by trascendenza



Category: Brimstone
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-11
Updated: 2007-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:04:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trascendenza/pseuds/trascendenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The usual games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminiscing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the porn battle (third), prompt: smoke ([mirror](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/286546.html?thread=11799634#t11799634)).

"Terrible habit, you know." He extinguishes the cigar on your skin. At first you wonder if he's just playing some kind of game because you don't feel anything—

"Christ!" You jump away, clutching your arm and glaring at him.

"I'm afraid he has nothing to do with it," he says, sauntering over and leaning up against the wall next to you. "Though the good old boy was always trying to take credit for my good work." He nudges a finger under your hand and pushes it aside to admire his handiwork.

"Is this one of those cryptic clues that's going to be useless until I've actually sent the next soul back?"

"You have so little faith in me?" His voice drips with a false sense of regret, but he's smiling and his fingers have started tracing your (his?) tattoos.

You have to bite back laughter at that statement, but you don't take the easy bait. "You know what I think?"

He raises an eyebrow, and somehow he's made your jacket and shirt disappear. His hands take full advantage of this fact but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of paying any attention.

"Oh, do enlighten me."

You lean towards him, poking a finger into his chest. "I think you draw this out just so you can torture me."

His laugh is deep and rich, warm just like the skin he's lighting up under his fingertips.

"You disappoint me, Ezekiel. And here I was hoping for some great philosophical revelation. I believe I heard this same little tale for fifteen years straight—it's getting a bit old. "

You uncoil quickly, slamming your palms into the wall so you've barred him against it. Fuck if you know where your pants went, but shame around Lucifer is like letting a predator smell your fear. And it's not as if you have anything to be ashamed about.

"But that isn't the point." The air's burning between the two of you, reminiscent of Hell but not quite the same. It's a cleaner fire up here, one that makes you feel alive instead of dead. "You _love_ torturing me." Leaning closer, you press against him, lips stopping just short of his. "You can't get enough of it."

The flames coalesce, leaping from the air into his eyes and with a flash of that devilish grin, he's lifted you and pinned you to the ceiling, and you can't help but straddle him, his tongue snaking down your throat.

You jerk against him, getting closer to—something—not pleasure, not release, but the limits of this body, and the walls begin to smoke, the stench of burning layering in your mouth above the constant taste of sulfur. You come covered in smoke and filled with fire, just like the old days.


End file.
